Eodan heard a muffled snicker at the table's end. Blood beat thickly in his temples; what right had some Asiatic to laugh at a Greek? His eyes ranged in search of the man, to deal with him later. By the time he looked back, Phryne had reclined beside Mithradates on the royal couch.
"Know," said the ruler in his customary Greek, "she spent her last wealth and risked life, freedom and honor to journey here from Sinope that she might plead the case of her comrades. And before then she had shared the perils of flight from Rome and battle at sea—and she is learned enough to instruct the children of noblemen. Therefore I say a queen's heart lies behind those fair breasts, and it shall have a queen's honor. Drink, Phryne!"
He took up his huge silver chalice and gave it to her with his own hands. A low, envious gasp sighed down the length of the table.
Phryne lifted her decorous veil to put the cup at her lips. "Ha, ha!" shouted Mithradates. "See, she is beautiful as well! Let the feast begin!"
It was no banquet at all, compared to the least meal in Sinope—little more than a roast ox and several kinds of fowl, stuffed with rice and olives. No acrobats or trained women being available, some young Gauls offered a perilous sword dance, and a Phrygian wizard showed such tricks as releasing doves from an empty box. Thus Tjorr enjoyed it better than any he had attended before; his guffaws rang between the guardsmen's shields until even Flavius had to smile a little. Eodan hardly noticed what passed his eyes and teeth; he was too aware of the Roman.
When the meal was at last over, an expectant silence fell. Mithradates leaned toward Flavius. "Your account of your adventures was ungraciously curt today," he said smiling. "Now we would hear more fully. You can be no ordinary man, who so endangered the Cimbrian."
"Your Majesty flatters me," said Flavius. "I am a most ordinary Roman."
"Then you flatter your state. Though you belittled it earlier, in contending that one man might be so great a danger to it."
"Would not Your Majesty alone be the greatest danger to us, were we so unfortunate as to lose your good will?"
"Ha! Let it not be said your race makes poor courtiers. Your compliments are only less polished than the orations in which you describe your own bluffness." Mithradates drained his chalice and set it down; at once a slave refilled it. His gaze went from Flavius to Eodan and Tjorr, and back to Phryne. "Surely there is a purpose here," he mused. "Lives are not often so entangled. I must take care to reach a decision that will accord with the will of the Most High."